Universe
by Arostine
Summary: Ryou plays a last game with his sister, takes a last car ride with her, and hears her last words, but does not see her die. Because watching your family die once is enough for one lifetime, or even two. Pre-canon, Oneshot.


**Title: **Universe

**Disclaimer: **It's Takahashi's world, we just live in it.

**Summary: **Ryou plays a last game with his sister, takes a last car ride with her, and hears her last words, but does not see her die. Because watching your family die once is enough for one lifetime, or even two. Pre-canon, Oneshot.

**Notes (please read): **

(1) This fic takes place PRE-SEASON 0. Therefore, I took the liberty of writing Ryou as somewhat more outgoing than he was portrayed in canon. As always, let me know if it seems irredeemably OOC.

(2) They drive on the left side of the road in Japan, and the driver's seat is on the right of the car.

(3) The perspective gets a little funky at the end (intentionally). _Italics_=Yami Bakura. Also, the ending was my first attempt at something sort of surreal; let me know if it worked or not.

==o==

_Long after it's all done—after the Occult deck is forgotten in a desk drawer, after he finally realizes he isn't obligated to return Yuugi's calls, long after the ring is buried and the voice is silenced—Ryou still remembers how it all began._

_And he likes that, in a way. He likes that there was a clear moment when reality shifted, when he went through the looking glass or down the rabbit-hole or into the Matrix or ... departed. For one thing, he reasons, if he ever wakes up in a padded cell, at least he'll have a point of reference. He'll be able to point to a calendar and say, "Yes, September 1, 1996; that's the day I lost my mind."_

_She died twice that day._

When Amane played Monster World, she always played the thief. Of course it was more a game of make-believe-plus-dice than a true Monster World campaign– at just eight years old, Amane didn't yet have the reading skills or attention span to learn the complex rules of a real RPG. Still, she loved it when they played together, and she loved that little thief. With a quick hand to her dagger and a witty retort to every attack, she was every bit as wild as the white hair painted on her lead miniature playing piece. At every victory, she would throw back her head and laugh, and Ryou would laugh too, a laugh that only his sister, his little thief, could bring him. A laugh he hadn't laughed since that day.

The irony was not lost on him.

Ryou, at "thirteen tomorrow," had considerably more experience with Monster World than his sister. He was playing two roles that day, as he usually did. A campaign was no fun with just one adventurer, and obviously the game couldn't go forward without a Dark Master to play the enemies. So he got the best of both worlds—dark and light, villain and victim. His "good" character was a white wizard, skilled in healing the sick and reviving the dead. He purposely left most of the offensive play to his little sister, while he was content to sit back and protect her when she fell, restore her when she died.

Of course, the situation was somewhat complicated by the fact that, as Dark Master, he was also the one mercilessly attacking her. The enemies he played varied from campaign to campaign, but that day he was playing a demon straight from the pits of hell. Both thief and demon were putting up quite a fight, and each had already taken significant damage at the hands of the other. Ryou made a mental note that next time he'd teach her about rolling for initiative; she was clearly mastering the simplified battle system he'd set up for her.

With the evil smile he usually wore as Dark Master, Ryou scooped up his dice and looked the thief—his sister—in the eyes. She stared right back at him, with an impish smile and a steely gaze. Her face almost made him break character and grin, but he caught himself in time and managed to turn it into a wicked smirk.

It was for moments like these that he loved playing with his sister. None of his friends would play the roles the way Ryou and Amane did. They were still too caught up in the insecurities of early adolescence to really live the game, to immerse themselves in their characters the way she did.

To be fair, he couldn't let himself go like this around his friends either. Around them, he was shy and reserved, polite almost to the point of obsequiousness. No, the real Ryou only came out around his sister, and that was fine with both of them.

Ryou tossed the dice into the air once and threw them down on the table. "Dark Master rolls for damage," he said, and bent down to check the result. He grinned up at his sister. "Super Critical."

Amane's eyes widened for a second. "Wait, what?"

Ryou ignored her for the moment and continued his narration. "The demon blasts you head-on with its hellfire."

Amane looked nonplussed.

Ryou decided to lay it on a little thicker. "It is blisteringly, unendurably hot; you feel your light armor begin to melt right off you; it runs in silver rivulets across your red and angry, blistered skin like a river of hot…uh…pain."

Amane rolled her eyes at her brother's purple prose. Ryou noted that perhaps he should restrict himself to one semicolon per sentence in the future.

"Wait a minute, mister," she demanded, "Before you fry me, I know I get a saving roll."

Ryou smiled wider. She really was getting good at this. "Of course you do," he said, and handed her the dice.

Alas, the saving roll was a pitiful '01,' not nearly enough to defend against the demon attack.

Amane groaned in frustration. "Aww, does this mean I die?"

"Hang on, let me calculate the damage" Ryou said, scratching away at a piece of paper. "Yep, you die. Sorry."

Amane stuck her tongue out at him.

Ryou took this as a cue that it was time for him to assume his other role, the white wizard. She always got antsy and irritated when she died, and he didn't want her to quit the game this time.

"Don't worry," he said in his deeper 'wizard voice,' "The white wizard will save you."

But the white wizard never got his chance, because just then their mother walked into the room.

They looked up, guiltily. She looked down, irritated.

"I told you two not to start a new game," their mother sighed. "You were supposed to be getting ready to leave. We have to pick up your father at the airport in half an hour."

"But mom, I _died_," Amane whined. "Just five more minutes so Ryou can bring me back, _please_."

"Please, Mom?" Ryou asked (more mildly than his sister; he was always a little uncomfortable talking back to adults).

His mother shook her head. "Ryou, your father had to leave in the middle of a dig just so he could be home for your birthday. At the very least, we need to show our gratitude by arriving on time."

There was a pause, and Ryou stared up at his mother.

Meanwhile, the universe split in two.

In universe number one, Ryou stood up to his mother, telling her that his father's plane was almost undoubtedly delayed by the rain and besides, five minutes wouldn't make a difference one way or the other. It would probably be more like three anyway. In that universe, Ryou and his mother would argue for a while, and Ryou would eventually win. He'd bring Amane back to life. And they'd all get into the car and drive to the airport. They'd be delayed considerably more than five minutes because they'd be stuck in traffic behind that horrible accident, and his mother would grumble and Ryou would feel guilty, but only for a little while, because Amane would come to his defense. They'd pick up his father at the airport and he'd treat Amane to a creampuff on the way out, and they'd all go home and live happily ever after. Yes, in the first universe, they would even celebrate Ryou's birthday the next day.

Ryou continued to stare at his mother.

He later wondered if he'd ever stopped staring at her. It hadn't seemed unduly long at the time, but when he played it back in his memories, (every night when he closed his eyes, when the laughter from the Voice echoed loud in his ears, as he watched the ring fall down, down, down into the temple's collapsing floor, _every single night_) when he lived it again, it seemed to stretch on forever.

He often wondered if maybe one day he'd wake up, or die, and he'd open his eyes and be almost-thirteen-years-old again, staring at his mother, about to save his little sister.

Because Ryou lived in the second universe.

He stood up and walked to the door without argument.

As he put on his shoes in the entryway, Ryou reflected that, if nothing else, at least he was obedient.

Amane shuffled up behind him and stepped into her pink sneakers. Ryou couldn't see her face, but he could hazard a guess as to her expression. She always got all quiet and pouty when she didn't get her way, much more so than he did. His mother was moving the pile of mail on one of the small tables in the middle of the room, seemingly searching for something and still looking harried. Great, Ryou thought; he'd been looking forward to an uncomfortably silent car ride with two irritated females.

There was a quiet 'clink' from the vicinity of the table, and Ryou looked over his shoulder at his mother.

She was holding the Ring.

Or rather 'the ring.' He wouldn't think of it as 'the Ring' for some time yet. At that moment, it was still a rather gaudy, probably fake, souvenir/birthday present that had come in the mail a few days earlier. Ryou's father had wanted to be sure to get his present to his son, even if his work held him up in Egypt through Ryou's birthday. His heart was in the right place but…

Ryou sighed at the ring in his mother's hands. It was the size of his face, made of a bright goldish material (he assumed it wasn't real gold—his father didn't like him _that_ much) and so shiny it was practically luminescent. For heaven's sake, it was attached to a string of _twine_ so that it could be used as a _necklace_. He appreciated the thought, really he did; it was just that the kids at school already teased him for his long hair and quiet demeanor. The last thing he needed was to start wearing enormous pieces of jewelry around his neck.

His mother blurted out what he knew was coming. "Ryou, why don't you wear your father's present when we pick him up?"

Ryou forced a smile. Maybe just this once he could wear it. It wasn't like anyone from school would be at the airport, he told himself. He would only look ridiculous in front of complete strangers.

"Of course," he said.

His mother walked to the door, slipped on her own shoes, and handed him the ring. It was heavy in his hands, but the twine was softer than it looked. The cone-shaped points that hung from it were surprisingly sharp.

As the family walked out the door for the last time, Ryou put the ring around his neck.

It was raining.

They got in the car, and closed the doors, and buckled their seatbelts, and drove away.

It rained harder.

Ryou stared out the passenger seat window, watching the rain drip down the glass. Amane was in the backseat, directly behind his mother, still stony-silent probably still pouting. He fiddled with one of the cones attached to the ring, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger. He was bored. He wished Amane would talk to him, even though by now she was probably too deep in a funk to want to resume the game when they got home. He wished his mother would drive a little slower down these residential streets; getting pulled over in front of a friend's house would be really embarrassing. He wished it would stop raining.

He glanced over at his mother and thought better than to say anything to her. Her mouth was drawn in a tight, thin line, and she still looked quite anxious. He wondered if she and his father had gotten into another fight on the phone last night. Ryou was pretty sure his father was only coming home for his birthday because she'd convinced him to; it usually took either wild horses or his wife to drag the archaeologist away from one of his digs.

Ryou's mother pulled the car onto the highway.

God, it was really starting to rain hard now. They were clearly driving into the heart of the storm. The thunder had started out quiet and in the distance, but now it was drowning out the sound of the highway traffic. The line of dark clouds ahead clashed strikingly with the colorful sunset behind them. It was rather beautiful, actually.

He was thinking. He wouldn't remember what about, later, but he was thinking. And he was fidgeting with the lock mechanism on his door. He was biting his perpetually chapped lips. He was jiggling his knee and tapping the dashboard. He was unbuckling his seatbelt and craning around to see if there was a rainbow behind him.

And then, suddenly, he wasn't.

He would be told, later, that they had hydroplaned, that the wheels had locked on the sheet of water beneath the car, causing the car to skid out of control. He would be told that the truck driver in the lane to their right had similarly lost control, and in trying to right himself, he had swung the truck to the left, into their lane. He would be told that the entire right side of the car had been crushed, that they had been killed on impact, that there was nothing that anyone could have done. He would be told that he'd been thrown from the car.

He often wondered if he'd been thrown from the universe.

_It was a deep-seated fear, the kind of fear that started in the pit of your stomach and spread to the backs of your eyes and the base of your spine and your kneecaps. A fear that made your throat swell shut so you couldn't scream and all you could do was run and run and run until they caught you. And you died. It was an ancient fear. The fear of prey. _

_They were coming for his village. _

Ryou opened his eyes to whiteness and a burning sensation on his chest. The Ring was hot, like molten metal.

_He smelled the sacrifice before he saw it, all ash and cooking flesh and screams so thick you could taste them on the wind. He followed the scent to the cauldron. It bubbled. He vomited on himself. _

Ryou was in a room without a floor. There were walls though, white, white walls, and that was enough to keep him safe for now. It was quiet.

_And everything else was so damn __loud__, he remembered. Everyone was screaming; his family was screaming; even the soldiers were screaming, which confused him. He didn't know what they had to scream about._

There was someone in the room with him, Ryou realized, someone behind him. He didn't turn. He didn't need to. He felt the presence in the corners of his mind.

_He turned and peered around the mud-brick wall just in time to see his mother collapse. His baby sister fell from her arms, silent. _

His sister, Ryou thought through the fog, he had to find her. She wanted something. She had needed him for something. There was something she'd asked for, if only he could remember it.

_Memories. That was all this was. Was that all he was? He couldn't remember. He wasn't in the village anymore, he wasn't a boy (he wasn't a man) he wasn't. He was not. He had existed only in the cracks of time, only kept alive by his vengeance and rage and the memory of molten gold. _

_But now he fell through a hole in the universe. And on the other side, there was a boy. _

That boy sat, trying to remember what she'd said, what she'd needed. It hovered near the surface of his consciousness like a name he couldn't quite place. What was it she'd said before they'd left? He racked his brain. And remembered.

'Just five more minutes so Ryou can bring me back, please.' Yes, that is what she'd said. 'Ryou can bring me back.' They'd been playing and she'd died. 'Ryou can bring me back,' she'd said, 'please.'

_He knew very little, but he knew that he was alone. And that the boy was now alone. And that the boy must not be allowed to see his sister. _

Ryou spun in the _whitewhitewhite _of the floorless room, looking for the door, looking for his sister. She wasn't here. Where _was_ here? He had to get out of here!

_The boy would not be allowed to leave._

The presence he had sensed before came back, stronger this time. It was no longer just behind him, but beside him, in front of him, all around him. Ryou struggled against it and found he could not move. But he saw nothing.

_He hadn't had a physical form in such a long, long time. He concentrated. _

The diffuse presence seemed to waver, move, and condense somewhat. It took on color, black and purple, and texture, gaseous, and scent (_blood and gold and flame_).

Ryou struggled harder, tearing his head left and right, wildly, searching. Out of the corner of his eye, he just barely saw something. Metal. Crushed.

_No._

The presence condensed further and Ryou felt the weight of an arm on his shoulder. Two arms. Hands grabbing the back of his head, yanking his face against something. A chest.

_Hold the boy, don't let him move, don't let him see, don't let him see. Blind him if you have to, but don't let him see. He is all there is left in the universe. . _

The hands were _hurting _him, yanking his hair, smashing his face, smothering him against that still-invisible chest.

His scream was muffled, but still intelligible.

"Let me out of here! You're hurting me!"

_Hurting him? __This__ was hurting him? This was __nothing__, not even a pinprick against…_

_Who was this boy this time, in this time? He was so __weak__. Perhaps the boy should see. See something at least (not his sister, never his sister). But perhaps he should see his face. See who he had become. Or who he would become. Or who he wouldn't let him become this time. His face. _

Ryou felt the hands jerk his hair down, forcing his head up. He saw the whiteness of the room again and, in his peripheral vision, the crushed metal. But he was distracted by the face.

_His face_.

It was a face without a body, coming out of the shifting mass that was the _presence_ all around him. It was blurry and swirling and flickering. It did not exist at all.

He saw it first as dark and scarred, then black and horned and fanged, then pale and rimmed in white and his face, _his face_, but horrible. Evil. The faces swirled and merged and flipped, at once one with the presence and apart from it.

In that face was the whole of the universe.

And the presence was growing, growing, growing, and the face was watching, watching, watching, and the white space left in the room was diminishing, and the smell was horrible, horrible, he couldn't breathe, he was suffocating, he would die without finding his sister. This was the end of the universe.

Ryou collapsed as the presence overtook the room.

_But at least he hadn't seen her. This time. _

Ryou awoke in the hospital, and knew, in an instant, that everything was over.

He stared at the white ceiling and saw suns go nova and galaxies die. He saw that the doctor would visit his room in an hour and tell him his mother and sister were dead, and he wouldn't cry, partly because he was painfully polite and partly because he knew already. The end of the universe was something you tended to notice.

He watched the ceiling like a movie screen. He saw his father's bitter grief and two funerals. He saw a side-by-side grave plot with two neat tombstones. He saw birthday after birthday spent alone. He saw letters to heaven. He saw the loss of his body, saw himself watching helpless through its eyes as it did horrible things without his permission. He saw the face.

The last black hole on the ceiling collapsed into whiteness. There was nothing left to watch, so Ryou looked down.

He was still wearing the Ring.

He smiled wretchedly, despite himself. The Big Crunch gave way to the Big Bang and vice versa, and so forth, on into eternity. He would have to go on. It was inevitable, a law of physics.

So this, he thought, was the new universe.

_And the universe goes on. _

_There are souls in dolls and spires through hands and the cold crack of the wind as he fades out of existence after a duel high in the sky. And after he returns. Ryou goes on. He always goes on. But he remembers. _

_Yes, long after it's all over, Ryou still remembers how it all began._


End file.
